


You Think I'm An Ignorant Savage?! (Well that's rude af)

by JKelly



Series: Welcome to Middleton [2]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, Disney Movies, F/M, Friends to Enemies, M/M, Misunderstandings, Musicals, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JKelly/pseuds/JKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a gif and a caption from tumblr that reads: "OKAY BUT IMAGINE a hs au where michaela and connor have to play the romantic leads in the school play, and michaela is determined to be the best and takes it very seriously but connor only signed up as an excuse to flirt with the cute AV nerd oliver and couldn’t care less about the play itself and keeps ‘breaking’ his microphone so oliver has to come fix it, and michaela is actually on the brink of murdering him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Around the Riverbend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to why Connor signed up for the play in the first place and the various auditions of some characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to fieryphoenix and HTGAWM for commenting on the previous chapter, because that was motivation to keep updating.
> 
> Songs used in this chapter are:  
> "Savages" - "Pocahontas"  
> "Papaoutai" - Stromae  
> "Trap Queen"- Fetty Wap  
> "Popular" - "Wicked"

Grilled chicken paninis are a boy's best friend, Connor thinks as he twists the combination to open his lock. His main concern right now is not this crowded hallway, or the fact that he hasn't done his geometry homework. It's getting to the field to have lunch so he can watch the soccer team practice.

“-lly going to get the lead. I’ve been learning a Native American language-Algonquin- too,” Connor hears someone say as he grabs the panini and slams his locker shut.

He whips around to see Michaela and her boyfriend (also one of Connor's best friends) Aiden Walker hand in hand by the announcement board. Michaela whips out a pen and presumably writes what must be her signature. She pauses and then scrawls something else. She places the pen back in her bag as Connor is striding over.

"Hey Aiden," he says to the other boy with a high five. "Michaela. What's up?"

"My test scores," she responds.

Aiden laughs and Connor gives a small "hah” and raises his eyebrows. "Michaela's signing up for the school play," Aiden discloses.

"No," she says drawing out the ‘o’. “ _We’re_ signing up for the school play. This year we’re putting on Pocahontas!” She says with a little clap.

Connor steps a little closer to the board clutching his satchel tightly. Along with several flyers and posters to join school teams, clubs, and attend fall events there’s a signup sheet.

In bold letters, it reads ‘Got talent? Then come audition for Middleton's production of Pocahontas! Auditions in room 147 all week after school!’ Before the lines where people’s names are written, there are instructions to prepare a monologue and/or song of your choice.

On the lines he sees that several are filled, and even recognizes a few of the names on the list. He sees Michaela's neat script of her and Aiden's names at the top of one column.

It makes him grimace a little. School play? And a musical at that - no. 

Aiden must notice because he pats Connor on the shoulder. “Fix your face Con. It could be fun.”

Michaela nods enthusiastically in agreement.“It will be fun. And I’m definitely getting the lead this year so even if it’s not, we’ll still put on a good show!”

“You’re a sophomore,” Connor mutters.

“Yes. A brilliant and talented sophomore that’s getting the lead. Especially since Laurel’s the director.”

Connor raises his eyebrows again. If three of his friends were going to be a part of the play, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He needed more extracurricular activities anyway. He could add drama to the list, bringing the total to one.

“But wait, Mickey why are you doing it?” Connor asks.

Goodness know she doesn’t need it. Michaela is part of drama club, debate club, vice president of Future Lawyers of America, on student council, and more recently a part of the school’s fashion design club. 

“One. Don’t call me Mickey.” Connor and Aiden chuckle at that because they're still gonna call her Mickey - who is she kidding? “Two, I want the lead. I need the lead Connor. I’m sick of being in the ensemble,” Michaela says indignantly.

“It’s a big deal Connor,” Aiden adds. “All of our friends are doing it.”

“If all of our friends decided to do ecstasy would you do it?” Connor deadpans. Michaela glares at him.

“Hey! That was one time and you promised we’d neve-” Aiden trails off as Michaela’s mouth falls open.

She closes it and then rolls her eyes. “Laurel’s directing, Wes is stage manager, and I overheard Asher asking Signore Delfino if he could play Pocahontas’ dog. The design club is making costumes and props, the chorus teacher Ms. Patrice is going to take care of the music, and the AV club- the one Oliver is in," she gives at Aiden's perplexed look. "Is dealing with all of the technical stuff."

Connor blinks. He really c- "Wait. Oliver Hampton?"

"No. Oliver Twist," Michaela snaps. "Yes Oliver Hampton. You say that like he's not in our English class."

Connor wants to hug Michaela right now, but that's not a thing they do. Oliver Hampton dealing with technical stuff could work out in Connor's favor. "So he'd be like...a part of the stage crew?" 

Aiden nods. 

"I'm in," Connor blurts.

Aiden sticks his hand out in a fist and punches Connor's shoulder. "Yes!"

Michaela smiles and takes out her pen again. What the hell has Connor just gotten himself into?

* * *

 

She's sitting in the drama room with a notepad in front of her. It's large and spacious. The chairs are in the shape of a U, facing the front of the room where a large chalkboard is. Monologue books and silly props fill shelf on one side. The room is littered with various posters of quotes about performing and the arts.

At the beginning of the year, Laurel was unwittingly placed into Ms. Fitzpatrick's drama class. However, she had come to like it, especially being behind the scenes. After an assignment in which the students had to create their own ten minute plays, Laurel fell in love with directing. When Ms. Fitzpatrick asked Laurel to direct this year's production, she had immediately accepted. Now, Laurel’s sitting in a chair next to Wes Gibbins waiting on one hundred and five people.

One hundred and five people signed up to audition and Laurel's got to get through them all in five days. The pro is that she's got her good friend Wes helping her out. The con is that Ms. Fitzpatrick is on maternity leave. Since it's mandatory for an adult to be in the room with them and supervise the play, they needed a substitute.Unfortunately that substitute is Mr. Delfino, Middleton's Italian teacher that Laurel just so happens to have a crush on. He's sitting on her right and he looks incredibly dapper in his vest as usual.

Shaking her head, Laurel remembers that there are a bunch of hopefuls waiting in the hallway for her judgment. She looks down at the list and the first name on it is Joanna Clearwater. Laurel smiles a little. Joanna sits next to Laurel in their period four Italian class. They've worked on a few projects together and she’s super nice. Auditions are off to a good start, Laurel thinks.

“Come on in Joanna,” she calls out into the hallway looking down at the signup sheet.

The loud stomping of boots makes Laurel look up. “Hi Joann-uh…”

Joanna is standing in the middle of the classroom. There’s a purple beanie on top of her short brown hair. Today, there are what look like small pink extensions hanging off the ends. Her brown eyes are framed in black mascara, and Joanna is clad in a black shirt, ripped dark blue jeans, and those super loud combat boots. There’s a silver water bottle in her hand.

“When I'm performing, it’s Puella Aeterna,” Joanna says monotonously. “That’s Latin for Eternal Girl.” Out of the corner of her eye, Laurel can see Wes with a confused look on his face and Mr. D furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m going to sing the song from Pocahontas called ‘Savages’ a capella for you all.”

“Uh. Great. Um, whenever you’re ready Jo- Pue...whenever you’re ready,” Wes says exasperatedly.

“This song represents how white isn't always right,” Joanna says.

Laurel gapes because she doesn’t understand what’s happening. She looks at Mr. D and Wes, who appear to be appalled as well. It’s eerily quiet before Joanna begins.

_“What can you expect_

_From filthy little heathens?” She starts out softly._

_“Their whole disgusting race is like a curse._

_Their skin's a hellish red_

_They're only good when dead_

_They're vermin, as I said_

_And worse_

_They're savages! Savages!_

_Barely even human_

_Savages! Savages!”_ Joanna is screaming the lyrics at this point. Laurel sees that Wes’ eyes are wide and he’s gnawing on his pencil. Mr. Delfino seems a little horrified, his hand is covering one eye.

_“Drive them from our shore!_

_They're not like you and me_

_Which means they must be evil_

_We must sound the drums of war!_

_They're savages! Savages!_

_Dirty redskin devils!_

_Now we sound the drums of war!_

_What can you expect_

_This is what we feared_

_The paleface is a demon,_

_“The only thing they feel at all is greed_

_Beneath that milky hide_

_There's emptiness inside_

_I wonder,”_ she unscrews the cap of the bottle and raises it to her head. _“If they even bleed?!”_ She yells as something red falls over her.

_“They're savages! Savag-”_

“Stop. Stop,” Mr. Delfino demands waving his hands around. Joanna falls silent and screws the top back on her bottle. Her face is stained red and streaks of whatever she doused herself in are visible on her clothing. “What is that?”

“This?” Joanna asks ging the water bottle a little shake. The three at the table nod. “This is the blood of the Native Americans and every other ethnic group my people have killed.”

Wes takes the pencil out of his mouth. “Joanna, I don’t think-”

“No Wesley. I need to repent,” Joanna tells him somberly. “This is the blood of your people too,” she says.

Wes’ mouth falls open and Laurel’s eyebrows shoot up. The only one capable of somewhat coherent thought, Mr. Delfino takes over.

“Joanna, sweetie, I think I’m going to have to call your parents,” he says. “And your guidance counselor.”

“Why? ‘Cause of the blood? It’s not really blood. It’s acrylic paint,” Joanna replies.

Mr. Delfino shuts his mouth with an audible clack of his teeth, struggling to say the right thing. “Thanks, Joanna. We’ll have the cast list posted next week. See you in class tomorrow.”

She smiles, the only normal thing that’s happened since she’s walked in, and exits the room.

Laurel pinches herself to shake out of this stupor. How was she supposed to talk masculine and feminine nouns with Joanna after this? She looks down at the list, hoping that the second audition will be better. The next name is Rodney Pierre. "Rodney?" Laurel yells out toward the open door.

A few seconds later, a skinny boy jogs into the middle of the classroom. _"Bonjour. Je m'appelle Rodney,"_ he says with a smile. _"Aujourd'hui je vais chanter une chanson de mon artiste préféré - Stromae."_

Laurel blinks. She looks at Wes and Mr. Delfino to see that they're both staring dumbly at the guy too.

"...Do you speak English, Rodney?" Mr. Delfino asks slowly. Rodney stares blankly back at the teacher and just presses "play'.

_"Dites-moi d'où il vient_

_Enfin je saurai où je vais_

_Maman dit que lorsqu'on cherche bien_

_On finit toujours pas trouver_

_Elle dit qu'il n'est jamais très loin_

_Qu'il part très souvent travailler_

_Maman dit 'travailler c'est bien, bien mieux qu'être mal accompagné'_

_Pas vrai?"_

Laurel tilts her head. While she can't understand a word, Rodney's dulcet voice is really nice to hear.

_"Où t'es,papaoutai?_

_Où t'es, papaoutai?_

_Où t'es, papaoutai?_

_Où t'es où papaoutai?"_

The three of them watch him intently until he finishes. They clap and Rodney bows. Laurel opens her mouth to compliment his performance, but he runs out mumbling something under his breath in French.  

"So...?" Wes questions.  

"So, we can't let Rodney into the play if we can never understand anything he says," Mr. Delfino states. He looks down at the sign up sheet to see that three boys signed their names on one line. They must be a group, he figures. "Hiro Seung, Archie Meyers, and Peter Kozlowski!" He bellows.

Three boys come into the room and form a triangle. One is tall, blond, and is in the front. Another is the same height as the blond, but Asian with jet black hair and thin brown eyes. The third one appears slightly younger and shorter than the other two and has thick black hair, brown skin, and hazel eyes.

"Hi. I'm Peter," says the blond. "This is Hiro," he says gesturing to Asian boy. "And this is Archie," he says nodding towards the black boy that's just pulled out his phone and set it on the table.  

"And we're The Crescendudes," they say in unison.

Laurel giggles and Wes gives them a small smile. Mr. Delfino huffs out a laugh and goes "Whenever you boys are ready."

Wes cocks his head as a familiar beat starts to play.

Peter closes his eyes. _"Married to the money, introduced her to my stove_

_Showed her how to whip it, now she remixin'  for low_

_She's my-"_

_"TRAP QUEEN!"_ Hiro and Archie yell.

_"Let her hit the bando!_

_And I get high with my baby (baby)_

_I be in the kitchen cookin' pies with my baby"_

 

Wes scribbles something on his pad, rips it off, and shows it to Laurel.

_This is actually adorable and hilariously awful_

Laurel looks at it and nods. She passes the note to Mr. Delfino. He reads it, scrunches up his face, and quickly writes something down. He waves it at the two students sitting next to him.

**_What the hell is a 'trap queen'?_ **

Laurel sighs. It's going to be a long week.

* * *

"You look like a preppy cupcake," Connor says while Michaela paces up and down the hallway doing vocal exercises.

She abruptly turns to face him. "This is how it was done in the play, so this is how I'm doing it in the audition," she responds curtly as she starts pacing again.

They're the only two people left in the hallway. Michaela had insisted that the be the last to audition. Something about always leave them wanting lasting impressions or whatever.

Michaela's wearing a light blue cardigan over a fluorescent and glittery  pink dress with several tiers with pink shoes to match. Connor thinks it's better suited for prom or a quinceañera, but Connor's not going to voice that opinion.

Connor glances at the monologue he's printed. His palms are clammy and he can't stop jiggling his foot. He's not sure if he'll do well or not. Michaela had helped him practice the entire week, but he still doesn't feel ready. He uncrosses his legs and stands up. As he's preparing to tell Michaela he wants to leave, a girl comes out of the classroom in tears, sniffling loudly.

Michaela stops pacing and stares. "Are-are you okay?"

The girl stops and blinks like a deer caught in headlights. She's holding a tissue and quickly blots the tears underneath her eyes. "I- my-" She bursts into tears then runs in the direction of the lobby.

Connor scrunches up his face. "What?"

"Connor and Michaela?" He hears a familiar voice yell. It's Wes. "Connor and Michaela?"

"Go!" Michaela pushes Connor into the room.

He stumbles forward and makes his way to the middle, Michael walking after him. Laurel, Wes, and Mr. Delfino are sitting behind a desk and they look incredibly worn out. Despite that, there are still huge smiles plastered on each of their faces.

"Whenever you guys are-" Laurel starts.

"Wait. No," Mr. Delfino cuts her off. "If the two of you of you are planning on rapping, miming, doing impressions, or singing a song from  Frozen \- get out." 

Wes looks over to the man, scandalized. "Mr. D-" 

"Wes, Laurel, I'm sorry. But if I have to hear one more rendition of  Let It Go  I'm going to lose it." The teacher looks at Michaela and Connor. "You're both still here so..."

  
"Um. Alright," Connor says with a clap. "Well, I'm Connor Walsh and today I'll be performing a scene from the movie "Tangled" as Flynn Rider and Michaela as Rapunzel."

He pulls up a chair and sits down. He takes a deep breath before launching into it.

"I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you, but may I just say…Hi. How ya doin’? The name’s Flynn Rider. How’s your day goin’? Huh?"

"Who else knows my location, Flynn Rider?" Michaela says.

  
"Alright, sweetie-"

"Rapunzel."

"Gesundheit. Here’s the deal. I was in a situation, gallivanting through the forest. I came across your tower and… ho, oh no…" He looks around feigning panic. "Where's my satchel?!"

"I’ve hidden it somewhere you’ll never find it."

"It’s in that pot, isn’t it?" Connor goes with a smirk.

"What do you want with my hair? To cut it?"

"What?"

"Sell it?"

"No! Listen, the only thing I want to do with your hair is to get out of it. Literally," he cries. Connor thinks he hears the people at the desk chuckle.

  
"Wait. You don’t want my hair?"

  
"Why on earth would I want your hair? Look, I was being chased, I saw a tower, I climbed it, end of story."

  
"You’re telling the truth?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Flynn Rider, I’m prepared to offer you a deal."

"Deal?"

  
"Look this way. Do you know what these are?"

  
"You mean the lantern thing they do for the princess?"

  
"Lantern! I knew they weren’t stars. Well, tomorrow evening they will light the night sky with these lanterns. You will act as my guide, take me to these lanterns, and return me home safely. Then, and only then, will I return your satchel to you. That is my deal."

  
"Yeah. No can do. Unfortunately, the kingdom and I aren’t exactly ‘simpatico’ at the moment. So I won’t be taking you anywhere."

"Something brought you here, Flynn Rider. Call it what you will: fate, destiny…"

"A horse," he says impassively.

  
"...So I have made the decision to trust you."

  
"A horrible decision, really," Connor snipes.

  
"But trust me when I tell you this. You can tear this tower apart brick by brick, but without my help, you will never find your precious satchel."

"Mmmhmm. Let me just get this straight. I take you to see the lanterns, bring you back home, and you’ll give me back my satchel?"

  
"I promise," Michaela says, nodding vigorously. "And when I promise something, I never ever break that promise. Ever."   
  
"Alright, listen, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. Here comes the ‘smoulder’." Connor puts on his best sexy face. The one he uses when he goes to gay bars and the one he practiced in the mirror all week. He can see Laurel writing something down with a half smile on her face.

  
"This is kind of an off day for me. This doesn’t normally happen," he says. "Fine, I’ll take you to see the lanterns!"

They stop for a moment now they've finished the scene. Michaela gives a little signal to Laurel and starts with her portion of their audition.

"Hi. I'm Michaela Pratt and I'm going to sing "Popular" from the musical "Wicked,"" she says as the music starts.

"You see Connie, now that we're friends, I've decided to make you my new project," Michaela states with a grin.

"You really don't have to do that," Connor mumbles.  
"I know. That's what makes me so nice!" She exclaims brightly.

  
_"Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I_

 _And let's face it -who isn't- less fortunate than I?_  
 _My tender heart tends to start to bleed_  
 _And when someone needs a makeover_  
 _I simply have to take over_  
 _I know, I know exactly what they need_  
 _And even in your case_  
 _Though it's the toughest case I've yet to face_  
 _Don't worry - I'm determined to succeed_  
 _Follow my lead_  
 _And yes, indeed_  
 _You will be..._  
  
_Popular!_  
 _You're gonna be popular!_  
 _I'll teach you the proper poise_  
 _When you talk to boys_  
 _Little ways to flirt and flounce! Ooh!"_ She sings with a little jump.

 _"I'll show you what shoes to wear!_  
 _How to fix your hair,_  
 _Everything that really counts_  
  
_To be popular!_  
 _I'll help you be popular!_  
 _You'll hang with the right cohorts_  
 _You'll be good at sports_  
 _Know the slang you've got to know_  
 _So let's start_  
 _'Cause you've got an awfully long way to go..._

 _Don't be offended by my frank analysis_   
_Think of it as personality dialysis  
_

_Now that I've chosen to become a pal a sis-ter and adviser, there's nobody wiser_   
_Not when it comes to popular_   
_I know about popular_   
_And with an assist from me_   
_To be who you'll be_   
_Instead of dreary who you were - well are_

 _There's nothing that can stop you_  
 _From becoming populer...lar_  
 _La la la la_  
 _We're gonna make you popular!_  
  
_When I see depressing creatures_  
 _With unprepossessing features_  
 _I remind them on their own behalf_

 _To think of_  
 _Celebrated heads of state or_  
 _Especially great communicators._  
 _Did they have brains or knowledge?_  
 _Don't make me laugh! Ha ha_  
  
_They were popular!_

 _Please - It's all about popular!_  
 _It's not about aptitude_  
 _It's the way you're viewed_  
 _So it's very shrewd to be_  
 _Very very popular_  
 _Like me!"_   
  
" Why Mister Walsh, look at you," Michaela coos. "You're beautiful."   
  
"I-I have to go," Connor stammers before running out of the room.  

"Well you're welcome!" She calls after him.  
  
_"And though you protest_  
 _Your disinterest_  
 _I know clandestinely_  
 _You're gonna grin and bear it_  
 _Your new found popularity. Ah!_  
  
_La la la la_  
 _You'll be popular!_  
 _Just not quite as popular_  
 _As meeeeeeeEEEEEEEE"_

 


	2. People Who Look and Think Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The links to the posts that inspired this story  
> [Prompt](http://milominderbindered.tumblr.com/post/101783683361/okay-but-imagine-a-hs-au-where-michaela-and-connor%0A)  
> [Gif](http://fyeahtgawm.tumblr.com/post/101393492263)
> 
> And I'm making Oliver's last name an Asian one and making 'Hampton' his middle name because...creative license.

"That's your line, Connor."

"Oh right, sorry. Um..." he says rifling through the script to look for what scene they were on.

A loud huff interrupts him. "God, we're taking five. Try to be able to focus by then. I have an AP Chem quiz to study for anyway." Michaela Pratt gets up and walks - no - struts off from centerstage to backstage, ponytail swinging as she walks to go find whatever ridiculously detailed study guide she probably put together.

Connor closes his eyes and sighs. Here he was, stuck at school on a Friday, two hours past dismissal with a group of people he couldn't care less about rehearsing for a play he definitely couldn't care less about.

"Daaang . Partied too hard with the babes last night?" And Connor is now obligated to open his eyes and then roll them because Asher Millstone is just that ridiculous. Or to be more exact, Asher Millstone is a pompous yuppie that's proclaimed himself "too good" for public school, yet is wearing a red sweater and tie combination that Connor just knows is from Target .

"Yes Asher. But you know, there's only one thing harder than my partying," Connor begins.

"Oh yeah? What?" Asher challenges.

"My rock hard dic-"

"CONNOR!" Yells someone from the audience. Connor and Asher whip their heads around. Laurel Castillo is stomping towards the stage from the fifth row with a paper in hand.

There's fire in her icy blue eyes and Connor's pretty sure he knows what's causing it. As Laurel reaches centerstage, the corners of Connor's mouth turn up a bit. Laurel stops directly in front of him. "You do know that you're wearing a microphone, right? You too Asher? " She asks. "Everyone can hear what you're saying!" She exclaims as she yanks the head worn mic from off of him.

Connor smirks again. "Even that senior Peter Kozlowski? 'Cause he is ho-"

"Don't finish the rest of that sentence." Laurel gives him an unimpressed look. "Stop messing around you two," she chastises them with a shake of her finger, thrusting the mic into Connor's lap and then turns her body to face the crew members in the audience. Laurel loudly claps her hands. "That's it for today guys! Be prepared on Monday!" With Laurel's announcement, the cast and crew filters out of the auditiorium to go home.

As everyone is leaving, Michaela emerges from backstage with her purse on her shoulder, her script sticking out a little. Michaela glares at Connor and Asher with her arms folded. Connor's unsure what to make of this. While he would love to stay and trade insults with her (that's just what they do), it's Friday. Connor has a new fake ID that he would love to break in.

Connor raises an eyebrow because honestly. Michaela sighs. "Do not mess this up for me Connor." He must be making a face because she keeps going. "This play will determine if I get into Yale's drama program, they only take sixteen applicants a year!"

"What the hell does that have to do with m-"

"Look, just take it seriously alright? " She demands hands on hips. "No sleeping with the production crew to change the setting of the lighting, no blowing the costume designer to make my dress less flattering. Got it?"

"Got it," Connor replies so he can just go home. As Connor gets out of his chair, something falls out his lap and lands on the ground with a sharp crack. He looks down instantly. Connor's mic is in several pieces, wires showing, and one part disconnected from the headpiece.

Connor groans, eliciting a hearty laugh from Asher. "Nice going," he quips as if a broken piece of equipment is the funniest thing in the world.

Michaela elbows him in the ribs, effectively shutting him up. Michaela rolls her eyes and looks backstage where a few peopleare still lingering. "Oliver?" She calls.

Oliver Hampton runs out from behindthe curtains, a screwdriver on his hip and a bunch of wires looped around his left shoulder. "Yeah Michaela?"

"Do you have any extra microphones? There's this dumbass whose name is Connor that broke his. Or maybe you could fix it?"

Connor scowls because 1)He is not a dumbass. The real one was two feet away from him wearing his Target outfit. 2)Only Michaela would try to embarrass Connor in front of Oliver Hampton.

But then Oliver walks over to the broken pieces amd bends down. "I can't do anything about this," he says while he collects the pieces. "But I can get you a new one Connor." Oliver stands up and smiles and something funny happens in Connor's chest. "Wait one sec," and the Filipino boy runs back behind the curtain.

"Wipe that look off your face," Michaela says as Oliver retreats backstage.

"What look?"

"That look that says you wanna take Oliver, bend him over a computer desk and f-Finally! You're back!" Michaela exclaims with a false smile as Oliver reappears, this time with another mic.

He walks over to Connor and places it on his head. Connor can see how pretty Oliver's chocolate brown eyes are underneath those gigantic glasses , and how his brow is furrowing just a little as he adjusts the headset in the best way. It's freaking adorable and Connor loves how close he is right now.

Oliver steps back. "There you go." Connor's mouth feels dry. Like super dry. Like Sahara Desert, Death Valley, Gobi Desert dry. He can see Michaela roll her eyes AGAIN and huff. "Thanks Oliver."

"Thanks bro," Asher says.

Connor takes a deep breath. "Can I call you again if I need help? Technical help, obviously," he adds hastily.

Olivers breaks into a smile again. "Of course, anytime. And if you guys ever need one on one help with anything I'm here."

"I'll be sure to remember that," Connor says with a wink, regaining his confidence.

Oliver nods and goes backstage again. Connor pauses before trying to remove the headset. When did Oliver's ass start looking so nice in corduroys?

Michaela notices him staring. "Don't."

Connor looks up. "Don't what?"

"Don't," she repeats. They stare at each other.

Asher looks between the two confused. "Am I missing something?"

Michaela pulls her eyes away from Connor to look at Asher. "Always," she states and walks off of the stage, pulling Asher with her.


	3. Come Taste the Sun Sweet Berries of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set after chapter 2, when they all finished rehearsal on Friday so it's the Monday after that.

Michaela, Connor, and Wes are sitting in the cafeteria together. It’s Monday and Connor already wishes that it was Friday. Or graduation. Mostly the latter. They had all been talking about the big party Asher was supposed to be having next Saturday when Michaela pulled out a bunch of berries.

“Did someone turn you into a rabbit?” Connor asks because he doesn’t understand what Michaela’s doing. Wes is wearing his confused puppy dog face so obviously he doesn’t understand either.

Michaela stops mid-pluck of whatever kind of berry that cluster in her hand is made of and looks at them.

“Why do you have berries for lunch?” Wes questions after he takes a sip of milk.

“Yeah and just berries, not even like berries and yogurt or something,” Connor admonishes as he begins to deconstruct his sandwich (what was he thinking putting in raw onions?). “Since when do you not have the five basic food groups in your lunchbox?”

“It’s called method acting,” Michaela gives.

Wes and Connor exchange a look.

“Native Americans were hunter gatherers,” Michaela says. “So now I’m a hunter gatherer.”

“I guess by that logic since Native Americans hunted fish you’re going to go to the lake to catch yourself some dinner?”

“I don’t plan on hunting anything so I decided to gather,” she remarks. “I went berry picking in in the forest near the old Callahan house. I got a whole bunch of wild cherries.”

“What if they’re poisonous?” Wes cries.

Connor nods in agreement. It’s common knowledge that you shouldn’t touch anything in a forest unless you can identify it.

Michaela shakes her head. “If they are then I guess I’m dying a slow death because I’ve been eating them since Saturday.” She yanks a berry from the group and pops it into her mouth. “Want some?” She dangles the bunch with two fingers after she’s done chewing.

Connor doesn’t even answer and goes back to scrutinizing his sandwich while Wes shakes his head vigorously.

“Change of topic,” Wes pleads before he picks up his applesauce.

“Fine. Let’s talk about how weird Laurel’s been acting lately. She's been blowing off all her dates with Khan. I think it's because she's failing Italian."

"Laurel's failing Italian?" Connor and Wes both have shocked expressions on their faces.

Michaela makes a little "mmhm" sound. "Apparently she keeps going to all of Mr. Delfino's office hours to get he-"

"Hey! Oliver, over here!" Wes calls.

Connor froze. _What's Wes calling Oliver over here for?_ He thinks. Wait. He didn’t even know Oliver shared this lunch period with them. Connor combs his fingers through his hair and runs his tongue over his teeth.

Oliver is holding a lunch tray in his hand and his bag is slung over one shoulder. He strides over to their table and sits down next to Michaela.  

"Hi guys," he says. "What's up?"

"The ceiling," Connor attempts to snark looking down at his sandwich. He won't get distracted by Oliver this time. Not again.

Oliver huffs out a laugh as he lifts the banana off of his tray. "Did you guys see that episode of Grimm on Friday?"

"I don't watch TV until I've tallied up my bi weekly class performance average, " Michaela tells them as she pops another berry into her mouth.  

Wes nods enthusiastically. "Yes! I can't believe the focus was another Blutbad, I hope that wasn’t foreshadowing something happening to Monroe.”

“Me neither. But that fight between the Bauerschwein and the Jägerbar.”

“That was crazy!”

Connor tilts his head a little. They're not even using English anymore.“What’s a bow...bock. Bus, um?”

“Bauerschwein?” Wes and Oliver say.

Connor nods. “It’s just a pig-like Wesen,” Oliver answers like that’s the most obvious thing ever.

“A ‘Wesen’,” Connor parrots. “What is a Wesen? Is that like Hungarian or something?”

“It’s the German word the show uses to describe the things only Grimms can see.”

Connor nods again and for a moment he thinks he should takes notes. He blanks out once Wes starts a diatribe on the differences between the show and the original Grimm fairy tales and how he really hopes that Juliette becoming a Hexenbiest will be ameliorated at some point.

Connor ~~may~~ or may not be more focused on how Oliver is like...devouring that banana as Wes talks animatedly. _Does Oliver really have push it that deep into his thro-_. Connor cuts that thought off. But the way he way he keeps wrapping his lips around- No. It’s just so hard to keep his eyes of off Oliver. _Ha ha hard_. No. Connor really doesn’t remember Oliver ever looking this unintentionally sexual. Connor is 20 percent sure that making out with someone in the middle of the cafeteria doesn’t even warrant detention.

A perfectly manicured hand snapping gets his attention. “How about we stop talking about Jägerbombs-”

“Jägerbars,” Oliver stresses.

“Right. Jägermeisters and talk about something important.”

“Like what?” Oliver takes a swig of water.

“Like how you’re head of the tech crew. I have a few requests.” She reaches into her purse.

“Requests?” Oliver repeats.

Connor can see Wes roll his eyes, an atypical gesture for the boy. “Michaela.”

“Wes,” she replies in the same flat tone. Michaela has a square sheet of paper in her hand.

“Laurel and I have bigger things to worry about,” Wes explains. He knows that Michaela was pretty much one of the only sane girls that auditioned but honestly. “Do you really think being the lead entitles you to make demands?”

“So Oliver,” she begins ignoring Wes’ question. “I just have a few requests.” She unfolds the square. “One: Get rid of Mariela’s microphone.”

Connor shoots her yet another look and Wes seems to choke a little on his milk.

“Who’s Mariela?” Oliver asks with his brow furrowed slightly.

“Mariela Rojas, she’s playing Nakoma - Pocahontas’ best friend,” Wes tells Oliver. “And do not get rid of her microphone.”

“Um do get rid of it. Her voice is already loud enough and whenever we harmonize in ‘Just Around the Riverbend’ no one can hear me!”

Connor sneers at her. “No offense Mickey but that sounds like a whole lot of your problem, not Oliver’s or Wes’. Just project your voice more.”

“Mariela should project her voice less.”

Unperturbed, she continues. “Two: I’ll need you to come over to my place on Tuesdays and Thursdays to practice how I want the sound effects when I jump into the river and when Kocoum and John are fighting.”

Oliver nervously scratches the back of his neck. “I really don’t know if that’s fair.”

“That’s because it’s not,” Connor agrees around a mouthful of bread. Wes nods in agreement.

“Oh come on, is that any way to treat someone you’ve known since daycare?” Michaela tries and bats her eyelashes a little.

Connor scoffs. “Anyone could use that excuse, Michaela.” Middleton isn’t a big town. It’s that kind of place where houses are so close together, you sneeze and your neighbor says ‘bless you’.  

“Shut up Connor.”

“Go back to eating your suicide berries.”

Oliver and Wes laugh heartily at Michaela’s affronted look. The former reaches out to touch Michaela’s hand. “I really shouldn’t. But if you need help with fixing a computer virus or something I can help.”

“Your own personal tech support. Isn’t that better than stealing Mariela’s mic?”

Michaela opens her mouth to say something else but the bells rings before she can.  

* * *

 

Whoever thought that large authority figures should also teach was so incredibly wrong.The perk (a.k.a. the horrible part) of having the vice principal as your English teacher is that she can pretty much do whatever she wants on account of she helps Principal Keating run the school. Even if it means fulfilling almost all of the curriculum within the first two months and constantly giving random “projects” and quizzes to “boost” everyone’s grade.  

Connor heaves out a sigh and reaches for the pen behind his ear so he can copy down the homework assignment on the chalkboard.

“Okay class,” Connor hears. Ms. Winterbottom walks to the middle of the room in another one of her tight pencil skirt and blouse combos and leans on her desk. “I’ve already chosen your partners for the story project due next month.”

The whole room collectively groans. Connor has never met a person that enjoys paired or group projects. There’s always one person that doesn’t pull their weight.

“The only difference between this and your previous project is that this assignment has to be at least ten pages and-”

Cries of “Are you serious?!” and “What?!” echo through the room. Some people slump in their seats while others simply put their head in their hands or suck their teeth.

“Guys!” Ms. Winterbottom shouts. “It must be at least ten pages, and utilize literary devices and techniques of two authors we’ve read and discussed in class. Also, these will be shared to the class. Under no circumstances should any of you plagiarize another story because I will know. I’ll put the guidelines on the board and you all can copy them. Any questions?”

The room is silent, only the sound of pens and pencils flying on paper until someone blows a raspberry. Loudly. Everyone turns to the middle of the room where Asher is slouching in his seat with his arms folded.

“Is there a problem Asher?”

“Ms. W! No fair. It’s football season! How can I write a bomb diggity story during the playoffs? And no one wants to work in pairs and groups. That sucks!”

“Class. Part of school and part of life is learning how to work with others. But if you really have an issue with your partner, talk to me privately and we can work something out. Any other questions?”

Asher pouts and opens the binder on his desk while Connor looks around.

Jamie Charles raises her hand. He rolls his eyes ‘cause he’s not in the mood to hear her brash, loud voice today. He kind of wishes he didn’t do that so often because they're bound to get stuck one day, but people keep giving him a reason to. Like Jamie. Connor’s known her since second grade where she would constantly try to run the class, a habit she hasn’t grown out of.

“Yes Jamie?”

Jamie stands up and smooths out her black jumper. “Well, first of all, studies show that working with others can increase the efficiency in which a product is created. Second, will we be working on this in class or at home?”

“Today, tomorrow and Wednesday we will. From then on it’s your responsibility to complete it and bring it in by the due date.”

Jamie has that look on her face like she wants to keep talking but Ms. Winterbottom beats her to it. “When I call your names, go sit with your partner.” Jamie sits down and crosses her legs with an audible huff. Ms. Winterbottom looks down at a paper on her desk and begins to read. “Mya and Wendy. James and Brianna. Oliver and Connor.”

Connor stops writing and stares up at his teacher. Ms. Winterbottom brushes a piece of blonde hair from her face nonchalantly and keeps rattling off names. There must’ve been a different Connor in the class that he doesn’t know about because obviously Ms. Winterbottom was not talking to him. Ms. Winterbottom would have had the good sense to pair Connor with Michaela, the person he always works with and always passes with.

He rubs his temples. Why. Why him? He doesn’t even notice James getting up next to him to go sit with Brianna. He looks over to the fifth chair in the fifth row from his seat in the third chair in the fourth row. Oliver's sitting there like the perfect student: Hands folded because he's already done copying the guidelines, sitting up straight, and looking directly at the teacher.

He doesn’t even realize that Oliver’s walking over until there’s a body in the recently emptied chair next to Connor. Connor slowly turns to face him. He takes in his appearance: The round glasses. A Star Wars t-shirt. The blue flannel shirt he wears over the Star Wars one has a little pocket with something else blue sticking out of it. His faded jeans. His ratty black Converse. He looks like a gigantic nerd, but what else is new?

They sit next to each other in awkward silence. What exactly are you supposed to say to your former best friend since Pre-K that you had a falling out with in middle school and therefore haven't spoken to (much) in two years but still have a kind of sort of crush on?

“So.” Is what Connor manages to come up with.

“So?” Oliver mimics. Oliver opens to a fresh page in his notebook.

“...” Connor suddenly becomes very interested in the graffiti on his desk. There’s actually some pretty decent art on the desks. There’s also an abundance of expletives and crudely drawn genitalia etched into it in blue and black pen. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Oliver tapping his foot impatiently and twiddling his thumbs. Connor would really say something but takes effort,something he doesn’t feel like giving at the moment.

A loud _slap!_ grabs his attention. Oliver just slammed his notebook on Connor’s desk. “This isn’t going to work unless we actually talk to each other. Unless you have telepathy or something.”

Connor side eyes his partner. It takes him a minute to realize that Oliver just made something of a joke in an attempt to break the ice. He should laugh out of courtesy and because it was funny in a nerdy kind of way but he can’t.

Connor inhales deeply and then releases a loud breath. “You’re okay with this?”

“With what?”

“This.”

Oliver makes a face.

“Us,” Connor explains gesturing to Oliver and then himself.

The face worsens.

“Being partners.”

Oliver pushes his glasses up and looks at Connor with a bemused expression. “Y-yeah. I know it’s kind of awkward but you know it's mandatory. Unless you want to ask Ms. Winterbottom to swi-”

“No! I mean, it's fine. It's fine, we're fine. Let’s just ignore the very palpable tension we’ve got going on here and get started.” He scoots his chair closer to Oliver's.

“...okay. Which author do you want to emulate?”

“George Orwell?”

“Talking animals aren’t my thing. Ray Bradbury?”

“You want to write a dystopia in ten pages?”

“Guess not. What about a half fantasy sort of thing like Libba Bray?”

“Isn’t she the one who cut a talking penis scene from one of her books?”

Connor chuckles. “Yes. My kind of lady.

“Right. Jacqueline Woodson?”

“Most of her stories are social issue based so we could work with that. Shakespeare?”

Oliver shakes his head ‘no’. “I can barely speak English now, you want me to try and write early modern English?”

Connor laughs. “You have to admit, the beard was hot.”

“I love dead English authors that used complicated language but maybe we should do someone a little easier.”

“Everyone I do is easy.”

“What?” Oliver squints as if trying to see the words Connor just said.

“Nothing. Next author?”

“Kate Chopin?”

“She wrote all the stories about Creole people and women, right?” Oliver nods. “Yeah, I like her stories a lot.”

“Me too. We'd have to use a lot of irony though.”

“This whole situation is ironic.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing!” Connor exclaims. “Any other ideas?”

“Amy Tan? John Green?”

Connor sits up a little straighter. “That guy?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“I just find his books unrealistic.”

“How? They’re simple plots. Boy meets girl, boy meets boy, several girls meet one boy and they all learn more about themselves on the way. Coming of age stories are relatable.”

“Well, the coming _I_ like do has nothing to do with age or relation.”

“Connor.”

Connor sighs. “Yes, Oliver?”

“Can you be cooperative, please? This assignment is important.”

“Of course I can,” Connor snaps. “Are you doubting me?”

“Doubting no. Getting up-”

“Boys, have you decided on an author yet?” Connor and Oliver see that Ms. Winterbottom is standing in front of their desks with her hands on her hips.

Oliver tries to stammer out an answer but can’t seem to make a coherent sentence.

“Kate Chopin and Jacqueline Woodson,” Connor tells her.

Ms. Winterbottom nods and walks over to the next pair.

“Thanks,” Oliver tells Connor with a little exasperation in his voice.

“Uh huh. Where and when do you feel like working on this?”

“Um, my house maybe?”

Connor’s eyebrows shoot up. He hasn’t been to Oliver’s house in two years. It’s a little weird because it’s right next door (and no Connor’s not avoiding Oliver by taking the long way to school sometimes). He knows that his presence never left though because their parents are best friends and have a myriad of photos and other stuff commemorating their and Connor and Oliver’s friendship. He knows for a fact that Oliver’s dad has an MIT pendant in their living room, just like Connor’s.

“Sure.”

“S-sure?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“How often?”

“I’d like to get this out of the way ASAP so how about every day after school? Starting today. That cool with you? And I’d love to see Evan Emery again.” Connor gets this out smoothly but he’s feigning nonchalance. Oliver needs to say yes because Connor might have a crisis if he doesn’t.

“Okay?”

  
“Okay.”

* * *

 

Oliver lingers at his desk after the bell rings. Why did he do that? What possessed him to invite Connor over to his house? You should've lied and said you had termites. Actually that wouldn’t have worked given that the Walshes would’ve noticed an exterminator or several little bugs eating Oliver’s house.

He should find out where Connor’s next class is and say he’s sick. Or that he has three days to live. Oliver grabs his bag and dashes out of the door so that he won’t be late to geometry. He doesn’t even really want to go because it’s his penultimate class of the day and he's got to get to his house before Connor does. He needs to clean and stuff. 

Oliver sighs. Maybe he should just suck it up. He has to admit though, he feels kind of giddy. Like maybe Ms. Winterbottom made them partners for a reason. She couldn't possibly have noticed the way Oliver would look over to Connor's seat when she was talking sometimes, could she? Or how when Connor ran in right before the bell rang one day Oliver couldn't stop staring at the redness in his cheeks or the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The way one little curl fell from his perfectly styled-

“Watch it!” Someone hisses as they collide into Oliver.

He tries to apologize for but the person just pushes past him. He shakes his head and skips down the stairs to the the north wing where his geometry class is held. Oliver’s sure he just bumped into someone but he can’t really focus.

“And what exactly are you smiling for?” He hears as he walks through the door of the classroom.

Oliver looks to the back where the voice came from. Levi and Wes are sitting in their regular seats in the back left corner but their desks are pushed together. A deck of Uno cards lies on top of them, and both boys have cards fanned out in their hands.

Oliver rolls his eyes and tries to ignore Levi. “Huh? I’m not smiling.”

“Yeah you are,” Wes chimes.

“Oh well uh,” Oliver tries to fix his face while he looks around the room. “Where’s Mr. St. Vincent?”

“I don't know. Probably hunting something and skinning it alive.”

Wes chuckles but shakes his head.

“Just know he's absent.” Levi slaps a card down on the desk. He grins. “Draw four.”

“Seriously?” Wes reluctantly picks up four cards to add to his previous seven.

Levi laughs and pats the chair next to him. “Join us Ollie.”

Oliver sits down and drops his bag to the floor just as a young man walks into the room.

He strides across the room to Mr. St. Vincent’s desk with a folder in one hand and a binder in the other. He places them both down and then walks back to the middle of the room.

A handful of kids wave at the teacher and he waves back. “Thank God I know some of you. This is Room 2N, right?”

“Yes,” the students say.

“Hi guys,” he says. “I'm Mr. Porter and I’ll be your substitute. Mr. St. Vincent is unexpectedly out today so there's no work for you guys-”

The class cheers and Mr. Porter grins before speaking again. “There's no work so you can do whatever you want, talk, listen to music, do some homework. Just keep the volume to  a minimum.”

The class breaks off into little factions. Some people have put their headphones on, silently rocking out to music. Others have changed seats in order to talk to their friends. Several people have just left the room before Mr. Potter can take attendance.

Levi deals Oliver in and they start to play.  

“I change the color to blue,” Levi states.

Wes places a blue four and a blue eight on top.

Oliver frowns at his cards. None of them are blue. He doesn't have any draw fours or wild cards. He doesn't even have a skip. This deck wasn't shuffled well because Oliver's hand is just an assortment of yellows and reds.

“Bad hand?” Wes asks in that way where his words are condescending but his tone is not.

“No!”

“Suuure.” Levi unzips his hoodie. “Anyway, what were you smiling a-”

“Guys, I'm going to take attendance now so quiet down for a minute,” Mr. Porter shouts.

“Christopher Anderson?”

“Here!”

Levi lowers his voice. “Did something happen in English?”

“No, just drop it!” Oliver whispers harshly. He wonders why he's being so defensive.

“You do look happier for some reason.” Oliver looks at Wes and he shrugs.

“Levi’s not w-”

“Wesley Gibbins?”

“Here.”  All three boys look up at the teacher.

Mr. Porter stares at the paper.  “Oliver Ha- Haka...Haka. Mada? Hakamada? Is that how you…?”

Oliver sighs. “Here!”  

“Julien Jacques?”

“Here!”

They look back to each other.

“Like I was saying Levi's not wrong. Was Ms. Winterbottom absent too or something?”

Oliver decides to concede so they'll stop pestering him. “No, she was here. We have a project to do. A paired project.”

“And you’re happy about that?” Levi asks him skeptically. “Your partner hot?”

Oliver ducks his head and pushes his glasses up. “That's not important.”

Wes smirks. Kind of. His face is just too nice for the action to look mean. “He's hot.”

“He's not!”

“He's hot,” Levi and Wes say in unison.

“I give up,” Oliver says to himself more than to Levi and Wes.

“Okay, okay, we’ll stop.” Wes places his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Are we still on after school?”

“Yeah, are we?” Levi questions as Oliver puts down a yellow eight.

“What's after school?” Oliver doesn’t recall making any plans.

“Levi Westcott?” Mr. Porter calls.

"HERE!”

“What’s after school?” Oliver reiterates.

“We were going to go over different styles of programs for the play?  Levi's doing the art and you said you'd transfer it to a computer.”

“Oh gosh, no I completely forgot. Connor's coming over.”

Levi pauses, his head holding the card in midair. “Connor? Why? I thought you two weren't friends anymore.”

“Yeah, you guys seemed kind of tense with each other during lunch.”

Levi ungraciously flings the card on the top of the deck and Wes places a yellow one above that.

“We're not not friends, we’re just not the way we used to be.”

“You mean the way you used to be. I remember you had this epic crush on-”

“Don't talk about it!” Oliver looks around to make sure no one is listening.

Levi cackles. “Why not?”

“It's embarrassing,” Oliver reveals as he shrinks in his seat a little.

“I always thought it was kind of cute.” Wes beams at him. “Is that why you were so happy? ‘Cause he’s coming over?” Wes gasps. “Is that who your partner is? Connor?”

“No…”

“Awe.” Levi starts to make lewd kissing noises.

Wes laughs yet again. Oliver sighs yet again. “Stop it. I don't feel that way anymore.”

“Right,” Wes tells him unconvincingly.

“Come on Oliver. Think of how cute your kids would be!”

Oliver throws his cards at Levi's chest and pulls out his phone. Candy Crush is better than friends anyway.


	4. Savages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Connor seems slightly OOC in his plan to get with Oliver, it's because I want younger Connor to be more like he was in season 1 before Oliver changed Connor's feelings about relationships. I figured since this is a high school AU and the K5 (K6 counting Oliver?) are younger, they haven't learned the error of their ways yet. Therefore Connor hasn't stopped being a player, Michaela hasn't learned that she doesn't need to be a perfectionist, Oliver's still an insecure cinnamon roll, etc

Geometry proved to be awful once Oliver beat Level 155 of Candy Crush. Levi and Wes spent the rest of the period speculating which guys in school they would have sex with if they were gay. Oliver almost laughed at their conversation until Levi started to talk about how Connor was actually kind of sexy. That caused Oliver to throw more Uno cards at Levi.

Oliver’s last class of the day was science and his lab partner thought it would be cute to accidentally spill gentian violet on Oliver’s shirt. A purple substance that stains whatever it touches. Oliver would be less upset had the gentian violet actually been for _their_ class and not for the chemistry class next period.

Oliver replays the final events of his day in his head once the bell rings and bolts for the front entrance. He starts walking quickly to the bus stop. Fortunately, it pulls up right as Oliver gets to the stop.

He steps up, pays his fare, and finds that the bus is not full at all. There are maybe like 10 other people scattered around, save for two girls talking to each other and a trio of men wearing track suits.

He takes a seat in one of the spots meant for two. He wants to get to his house before Connor can. Thank the lord Connor monitors for Principal Keating two days a week.

He needs to wash the dishes, change out of his newly turned purple shirt into something more presentable. Maybe something that shows off his biceps, and-

Oliver frowns. He never even thought about showing off his anything (not that he has much to show off) unless he was trying to impress someone.   _Is it normal to be this concerned about a house guest?_ Oliver thinks. He shrugs. _Maybe not, everyone likes to make a good impression._

Oliver shakes his head and decided to call his mom who's away on a company retreat. He doesn't want to bother her but he doesn't want to think about Connor either.

He dials her number and puts the phone to his ear. It rings twice before she picks up, to Oliver's surprise.

“Hello?”

“Hey mom!”

“Hi Oliver, what's going on?”

“Nothing. Just calling to say hello and tell you that I'm on the bus.”

“On your way home?”

“Yup.”

“You sound kind of upset Oliver what's wrong?”

He sighs. His mother could be too astute for her own good sometimes.

“I just, I have this project. It's nothing.”

“Is it a lot of work?”

“No. Well yeah but we got assigned partners and Ms. Winterbottom is making Connor work with me. And now he's coming over to work on-”

"Connor's coming over?”

“Yeah we-”

“Oh that's fantastic! He hasn't been over in ages. This is great!” Oliver holds his phone away from his ear.

“Mo-mom I’m on the bus, don't yell-”

“It's like you never bring anyone over or go outside anymore,” she tells him more quietly.

“That's not-”

“Reading all those books until God knows when and playing those video games was not good for you.”

“I-”

“I was starting to think you had no more friends.”

“Mom!”

“Jennifer will be so happy that you boys are hanging out more.”

“We're not-” Oliver cuts himself off this time.

“Another drink, on me!” He hears someone in  the background yell.

“Um say hi to Connor for me. And make sure that Evan doesn't find the backup lasagna.

“Backup lasagna?”

“I made lasagna for you guys to eat while I’m away.”

“Two weeks worth of lasagna mom?”

“Yeah there's one in the back of the fridge. The one in the front with more meat is. Well. Evan's.”

“Yes mom.”

“And make sure Evan isn’t out too late at the skate park and that your dad doesn't forget to mail those pictures.”

“Yes mom.”

“Oh and don't forget to take the trash ou- No, no more tequila.”

“Um-”

“Okay, bye. Love you Oliver!” His mom hangs up before Oliver can ask if it's professional to drink at a work related function.

He puts his phone in his pocket just as the bus reaches his stop. Oliver hops off walks up the block to his house.

Oliver uses the keys to open the lock and pushes open the door. He places his jacket on the coat rack, slips off his shoes and locks the door back.

He walks into the living room so he can watch some TV. Oliver sits on the couch and grabs the remote to turn on the television. It's on some channel with cartoons that Evan had probably been watching before he left for school.

He mindlessly flips through the channels and then pulls out his phone. The clock says that it's three o'clock.

"Crap!”

Oliver runs upstairs to his room. He rips off his shirts like some savage beast breaking out of a cage and flings them into his hamper. He changes into a red baseball T-shirt and some sweats.

He dashes downstairs into the kitchen and starts washing dishes. He's up to his elbows in soapy water.

Oliver is furiously scrubbing at a green stain on a plate when he hears footsteps. He look out of the corner of his eye to the door but sees nothing. 

“Hey Oliver!”

“Oh my gosh, what the-” Oliver drops the plate that he's washing into the sink, soapy water splashing his shirt. “Dang it.” Two messed up shirts in one day.

He turns around and there's Connor, standing against the door with a grin on his face. “Sorry,” he says not sounding sorry at all.

“Wha-um-uh. Who. Who let you in?”

“Evan Emery!”

“Evan’s not here.”

“I am now!” Evan strides into the doorway and leans against Connor. He's wearing a cap backwards and sunglasses that mask his thin eyes even though they're in the house. He looks leaps and bounds cooler than Oliver, as always.

“Connor and I took the bus here together. Told me you two are working on some project.”

“And Evan Emery invited me over for dinner,” Connor voices. He sounds a little uncertain and when Oliver makes eye contact with him he raises an eyebrow.

Oliver fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course he did.”

“Dad said it was okay. Plus, I had to little bro. You haven't had Con over in forever. He's the only one that'll watch bad reality TV with me. And I've missed the way he’d call me by my first and middle name. ”

“Evan.”

Evan laughs and points to Oliver's shirt. “Wet much? We'll let you get cleaned up. Come on Connor, let's go watch Real Housewives." 

“Uh, okay.” Connor looks at Oliver one last time before being lead off into the living room by Evan.


	5. IMPORTANT - PLEASE READ

I know that I'm not supposed use a chapter to do this but I'm gonna do it anyway. To anyone that subscribed or bookmarked this story, I apologize for not making this a chapter that continues from where we left off. The story will be updated around mid-January.

The point is that this story needs MAJOR reconstruction. I started writing this without a clue of where I wanted it to go, and that's resulted in this story being all over the place. There are so many mistakes, plot holes, and formatting errors that I haven't bothered to fix in the past and need to fix now. The chapters are going to have to be rearranged and I need to make this whole thing more cohesive. I feel awful that every time I've updated, the chapters were short and I had people waiting to read something that really wasn't that great. 

**I promise that I'm not abandoning this story! I'm just fixing it (feel free to leave a comment if you have anything that you would like to see happen in future chapters).**

**This "chapter" will be deleted and put into a note (probably) once this reconstruction is done. Thank you to everyone who has taken a chance on this story, it's truly appreciated!!!**

 


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